A River in Egypt
by wherefore-suchas
Summary: Boy meets girl. Times two.


**A River in Egypt**

disclaimer: nope.

(brief) author's note: this is the semi-sequel to "Broken." I also ignore parts of TAS-continuity that I don't like. Like Bruce and Babs 'cause, no.

*******

You know how it is when you meet _someone_. That feeling like your blood is rushing extra fast, like suddenly you've got Niagra Falls inside your chest where your heart used to be? And you're walking around, making your way through crowds of people with a secret smile because none of them *know*. Day-to-day routine isn't, not so much anymore. No wonder Gene Kelly burst into song, swinging from that lamppost, right?

But Gene Kelly never had it quite like me.

I feel more like I did the time Ra's Al Ghul took me from my dorm room at GU. Like the world's just dropping out from under me and I'm tumbling without a jumpline.

I'm grasping for something to hold onto here. Words aren't just failing me, they're spectacularly committing Hari Kari left and right. Abandoning me before I can abuse them.

I met a girl.

No, that's wrong. Because I'd known her before, so it was more like one of those cheesy, high school reunion moments. The where-were-_you_-in-high-school? followed by the long gaze up and down. How cliché, right? Right under my nose and I missed her completely. Sorry, Dick Grayson is busy with puberty right now. And costumed crime fighting. College applications. Obligatory social functions. But he'd love to return your call just as soon as he gets back.

How else can I describe it, though?p> 

I met a girl.

The first girl in a long time who I _didn't_ meet somewhere between dusk and dawn. Dressed for Carnival. Swinging from rooftops. Although, maybe, I wish she did that too. Selfish. Taking that whole "shared interests" thing a little too far.

Not this time. I met her in the traditionally-accepted way. Sitting on the arm of a faded, overstuffed couch. At a party. With a red, plastic cup in my hand and a blue, plastic cup in hers. She was staring into her beer more than drinking it.

"Look too hard and you'll find the secrets of the universe," I warned her.

She peered at me over the lip of her cup. Trapped me with those tilted blue eyes. Smirk. "What makes you think that's not what I'm looking for?"

I sipped my drink and made a face. "It's certainly safer than actually drinking this stuff."

"Anyone who says they like keg beer is a damn liar," she agreed. "I suppose you're used to better stuff than this at home."

"Home? Oh." I groaned inwardly at that. Because sometimes I have these really wild fantasies about what it would be like if no one knew that I was the closest thing Bruce has to a son. The moon to his sun, if I'm feeling particularly poetic. Basking in his reflected light. She was picking at some of the loose stuffing that was squirming out of the couch cushions. Pulling threads to unweave the garish plaid. Maybe she was waiting for my answer. "Bruce isn't really the beer-drinking type." That was the god's honest truth.

"More like a snifter of brandy after dinner, huh?" she replied lightly. Joking. She was joking. About Bruce.

I was in love.

Or at least deeply interested.

I slid onto the couch next to her. Her knuckles brushed against my thigh when she moved over. Right before she tumbled, lopsided across the rest of the couch. So she'd been doing more than staring at her drink. I righted her, pulling her gently into my side. But she inched away (why?) and regarded me seriously. "Just because I'm tipsy doesn't mean I'm stupid."

By then, I was definitely beginning to get the idea that she was a lot less tipsy than she let on. I wondered why.

She tweaked my nose. Her hands were warm. "It's fun."

Wait, what? "What's fun?"

She threw her arms out expansively, but turned the gesture into a long stretch at the last minute. I held my breath and did my best to look without looking. Generous mouth. Pointed chin. Masses of bunches of acres of red hair. Her stomach peeping out when the tee shirt rode up. "Mmm. Pretending." When she lowered her arms, a strand of her hair tickled my cheek and clung there stubbornly. Static. "Pretending to be a normal person." My heart stopped.

Dressed for Carnival. Swinging from rooftops.

"Pretending?" I squeaked. At least that's what it felt like. That little crack? Attention passengers, Dick Grayson has now reentered puberty. Please keep your hands and arms inside the car.

"Pretending that you're unencumbered then." She made a face. "Did you ever hear about that Robin kid?"

Oh I _was_ going to have a heart attack after all. Glad that got cleared up, I was worrying. "Um, who?"

"Robin. He hangs out with Batman. I always wondered about him."

"Oh yeah?" My rhetorical skills were positively off the charts.

"Like, doesn't he get tired of being backup Batman? It's kind of Vaudeville when you stop and think about it. All those colors."

I pulled at my collar. "Maybe he likes colors?"

She swatted away my objection. "It's not practical. I mean, if I were going to do something like that, not that I would, mind you, but if I did, you have to think about practicality."

"Maybe he doesn't want to be practical?"

Her hand was on my knee, drawing circles. My skin was hot. I leaned against her, just for a second. Closed my eyes. Twirled a piece of her hair around my index finger. Pretending _is_ fun. Pretending like I didn't have a patrol to get to. By the time I realized she was kissing my cheek, it was already finished. Don't know what I was thinking when I reached for her, but she skittered back.

"Little too sordid for me, thanks."

"Sordid is in the eye of the beholder?" I offered hopefully, jokingly. Tsk tsk. "What if I took you out for real?"

"No pizza. Champagne. Burgers. Chocolate covered strawberries." She ticked the list off on her fingers.

"Bowling?"

"Duckpin?"

"Why?"

"My fingers get stuck in regular balls." She waggled her thumb at me. "My thumb."

"There might be pizza there. Burgers too," I cautioned.

"Sideshow only, never the main event."

"I see."

"Do you now?"

"Your name?"

"Babs Gordon." I boggled. She laughed. "I was wondering if you'd notice before I had to tell you."

"But, you..."

"You're bad with faces."

"You don't have freckles anymore." You're not ten.

"It's dark." She leaned in close, tilting that pointed chin out for inspection. There they were. A universe printed. My heart was pumping fast. Niagra roared in my ears. Touched her cheek cautiously. Her lip gloss was mint chocolate.

*******

Being Robin has definitely taught me to ignore the little things. And someday, that and 35 cents will get me more than a phone call. Ought to write a book: Don't Sweat the Small Stuff for Crimefighters by Msr. Richard Grayson. Just _wait_ for the honorary degrees to roll in after that one.

Only Batgirl isn't a little thing.

Okay, maybe she's on the short side, but this pot isn't really one to call that kettle black.

She's an occasional pain in the ass. Unknown quantity. Poem by anon. With the erratic way she pops up, I'm inclined to think she has a day job. And that's _all_ I know.

I'm pretty sure Bruce knows who she is because I'm also pretty sure Bruce might go crazy if he *didn't* know. He's funny that way. And I know that all I'd have to do to find out is take a quick look through his files.

That is, if I wanted to. Unknowing won't kill me. I just can't see any advantages to knowing.

Well, _one_. But Bruce's computer isn't some kind of vigilante dating service (although god knows, Wally could use a date if only so he'll stop driving me crazy on weekends). And the whole thing just smacks of "Eau du Stalker." Hell, she'd kick my ass halfway around the block and back if she knew about the whole "watching" thing.

Yeah, yeah, get it out. It's weird. Not to mention creepy, unhealthy and borderline obsessive. To be fair, I don't _seek_ her out. I just find her. And it definitely would've helped if she hadn't kissed me that time, just to put all the cards on the table. Fair's fair.

But I get it that that kiss (apart from being indirectly responsible for imploding my relationship with Helena)...well, it was just something to do. A funny kind of acknowledgment about how our social interactions don't fall into the "traditionally accepted" category.

By the time I respond to the silent alarm, she's already there. Wrapping things up with a hard chop to the windpipe and a spinning kick to the diaphragm. Ouch. The kick is definitely more showy than it has to be and I smile. What's the point of not enjoying the work? After all, I could give it all up tomorrow; actually *use* those trappings of male college life strewn so carefully through my dorm room. Right now they're pure window dressing. Good for disguising the fact that I spend precious little time in my room at all. I'd have to learn how to use the Playstation, but in the grand scheme of hardships, it's a small one.

"Are you going to help me or are you going to spend all night skulking around in the shadows?" she calls, sounding a little breathy from exertion.

"I _don't_ skulk," I tell her, swinging lightly to the pavement. "And besides, I know you've got everything under control." She's tied the two would-be thieves with a series of intricate knots. Enough to make an Eagle Scout drool.

She nods. "That's really more _his_ territory, huh?" A flicker and suddenly she's doing the best damn impression of _him_ I've ever seen. Something about the set of her jaw. Squared shoulders. Touch of grimness around the mouth.

For the second time tonight, I'm in love. Deeply interested.

"What now?" I ask her. I want to ask her to join me on patrol. I want _her_ to ask me. I want....

"Well, it's not as if we can go out for pizza and beer."

"Or chocolate covered strawberries," I murmur.

"What?" She cocks her head and gives me the oddest look.

"Nothing. Sorry." Silence. "Don't you ever get that bleed over?"

"I'm not sure we need to talk about what we do all day," she says cautiously.

Shrug. "It's just overlap. Transition from one mode to another."

"I see. And chocolate covered strawberries have what to do with the price of tea in China?"

"Not much." I shake my head. "I should get going."

"Wait!" she tugs at my arm. "Can I...I mean, do you need any help?" Her blue eyes scrutinize my face with guarded hope. I'm close enough to see the sprays of freckles that dot her cheeks. Her pointed chin.

"Maybe tomorrow night?" I make it as much of a promise as I can. Tomorrow, when I can answer my own questions about similarities. Straighten out the clues. Consider the evidence. Everything I can't quite believe right now.

Like I said, I met a girl.

fin.

*** end 


End file.
